


Hey, Ho, Haul Together

by Loslote



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pirate, Falling In Love, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Minor Violence, Pirates, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-19
Updated: 2016-01-24
Packaged: 2018-05-14 22:44:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5761750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loslote/pseuds/Loslote
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles has sailed on the pirate ship Beacon since he was nine years old. Now, when his captain and former foster father loses the ship in a gambling game gone wrong to the intimidating Captain Derek Hale, will Stiles be able to adjust to life on a new ship under new command? And why is Captain Hale so interested in Stiles? Does it have something to do with what the Beacon's surgeon, Deaton, told him when the new captain first set foot on the ship?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've been excited for this for a while, but haven't had time to write it down. I do have the whole story outlined and mostly written out, though, so this for sure will be completed in a timely manner, don't worry!

Captain Claudia Stilinski dominated the Pacific Coast of Pamana for decades after rising to power in her early twenties. She was credited with over one hundred and fifty captured merchant, slaver, and military vessels, and notorious for showing no mercy to those who showed her the slightest glimmer of disrespect. From her flagship, the Spark, she commanded a fleet of pirate vessels, nesting in the Pearl Islands and maintaining uneasy truces with the other pirate kings in the area - the Steeles in the Gulf of Nicoya, the Satomis out of the Galapagos, and especially the Hales, who sailed out a town on the Pacific Coast of Colombia only a few days’ travel from the Stilinski waters. 

No one knew which of the pirate kings betrayed the rest, only that they were ambushed while meeting peacefully and secretly to discuss the influx of Caribbean pirates after an earthquake destroyed Port Royal in Jamaica. Claudia Stilinski was murdered, along with Captain Talia Hale and both of their husbands. 

A man named Deucalion, an ally of the Steeles, was blinded in the attack, prompting him to launch an assault on the Mexican coastline with such fury as to rock the pirating world for years. The response by the European governments was monumental. Any pirates who survived both Deucalion and the anti-pirate movement went to ground for the next six years, hiding out any place they could find and keeping their heads down until the coasts became clear to sail once more.

Six years later, Captain Claudia’s flagship was now commanded by her old first mate, Bobby Finstock, who renamed it ‘the Beacon’ to avoid drawing attention. Her crew was almost entirely new. Few pirates on board remembered its old captain or the glory the old ship once inspired. On the first voyage the ship took in six years, only Captain Finstock, the ship’s surgeon Deaton, and a young cabin boy who went by the name Stiles knew whose ship they now sailed.

|>> |>>  
\\__/ \\__/

“Faster, powder monkeys!” Quartermaster Harris shouted in Stiles’ ear, cuffing the back of his head as he moved past. “If we don’t make it in by sunset, you lot can look forward to rotting in the jungle all night long wi’ the spiders and the snakes, mark me!”

“I’m not a powder monkey. I’m not a cabin boy any more,” Stiles grumbled under his breath to his partner, Scott McCall, as they heaved at a cannon, trying to haul it through the dense, overgrown jungle to a new beach. Stiles could feel a bead of sweat clinging to the tip of his nose, threatening to fall, and he huffed at it impatiently. “I’d like to see that bucket o’ slop try to sail without me to do the riggin’, that’s what I’d like to see.”

Scott heaved, finally dislodging the wheel of the cannon from a tangle of roots and vines and sending it crashing down the hill about a foot before it caught in another hole. “He only hates you because you’re Finstock’s favorite,” he said, looking mournfully at the cannon. “Dunno why he hasn’t realized yet that Finstock’s nuts, but hey, it’s Harris.”

Stiles sighed. “I miss Quartermaster Blake. She was nice. Evil, but nice.”

“She tried to kill Captain Finstock and take his command,” Scott remind him.

“We’re pirates,” Stiles said, rolling his eyes and setting his shoulder to the solid metal of the cannon. “S’not the first mutineer ever to try her luck. Won’t be the last.”

“Maybe,” Scott admitted, helping him shove. “Deaton hates mutineers. Swore an oath never to treat one if they came to him for help.”

“Deaton’s almost as nuts as Finstock,” Stiles scoffed.

“He’s not!” Scott protested. 

“He’s the most cryptic bastard to ever sail the seas,” Stiles grumbled.

“Sure, but he’s not nuts, he’s...wise,” Scott said.

“Yeah, you’re his assistant, you have to say that.”

Scott shrugged.

“You're burning daylight, mateys!” Finstock called from behind them cheerfully. “Heave ho, lads, heave ho all t’way t’the cove!”

|>> |>>  
\\__/ \\__/

On a calm day, the ocean waters stretched out for years, the blue of the sky blending with the blue of the water and masking the horizon, and the only ways to tell where one ended and the other began were the waves and the clouds. From Stiles’ spot on the lookout perch, the waves diminished into gentle ripples, there were no clouds to be seen, and the sun beat down overhead, warm and soothing, while a cool breeze played across his face.

Stiles’ eyes kept slipping closed as he leaned against the railing, only to jolt back open when his head would start to tip forward. He was so distracted by simply trying to stay awake that it took him a second to notice the splash of red and yellow from the flag of a Spanish merchant ship that had appeared on the horizon.

“Ship ahoy!” Stiles hollard. “Merchant vessel to the starboard, avast, merchant vessel starboard!”

The crew on deck dropped their mending and their mops and scrambled to their feet, running for their stations. A suddenly tense and serious atmosphere descended on the ship. Stiles focused on the approaching vessel with his spy glass.

“Stiles!” Finstock shouted up, “What d’you see?”

“Definitely a Spanish merchant vessel, captain!” Stiles called down. “Headed north-northeast. I see maybe six cannon.”

“Good lad!” Finstock said jovially. “Come on down, boy, I want you on the landing party.”

“Yes, captain!” Stiles called down, swinging himself over the railing and scrambling down the ladder. He raced to find a gun.

In the end, the battle was pretty anticlimactic. The merchant vessel surrendered after only one warning shot. Actually, Stiles was pretty sure they’d already been hauling up the white flag even before the first shot was fired. The captain was a snivelly, greasy man with ratty long hair, a wrinkled uniform that looked like it had once been expensive, and a pervasive smell of rot clinging to him wherever he went. Finstock had to beat away men trying to join his crew just to get to the storage bay, where it turned out the merchant ship had been carrying a cargo hold full of wolverine, skunk, and weasel pelts from the north continent. Finstock slammed the cargo door closed as soon as the wall of fermenting musk smell reached the landing party. Stiles gagged and tried to clamp his nose shut. He could feel his brain burning.

“Do you have anything else valuable?” Finstock asked, looking pale.

“The ermine pelts don’t stick,” one of the more helpful crew members offered sympathetically. “They’re in the right corner.”

Finstock looked sick at the thought of going back in. “Uh,” he said. “Stiles, McCall, be good lads and fetch the booty, eh?”

Stiles groaned. “Yes, captain,” he said, slumping. He plugged his nose and dove into the piles of pelts, half blinded by the waves of stench. Finstock slammed the door shut behind them, so Stiles had to dig through searching for anything white and non-stinky in complete darkness.

“Found them,” Scott choked out after a while of digging.

“God, sometimes I really hate being a pirate,” Stiles groaned, helping Scott pile them all into their arms to avoid a second trip.

|>> |>>  
\\__/ \\__/

The ermine pelts were worth a pretty penny, but in order to get hold of that penny, they had to be sold. Finstock moored the Beacon at a Columbian port town and put Harris in charge of selling the furs while he swanned off to the local pub.

In the morning, Finstock crawled back to the ship with dark bags under his eyes, a pale face, and three tall, imposing men following behind him.

“Ahoy,” Finstock called weakly. “Ah, all hands on deck, please. Ahem.”

Stiles looked up from where he was mending a slight tear in a sail. “Ay, captain,” he said, waiting for the rest of the crew to gather around.

“Ahem,” Finstock said again. “Ah, so, I’ve, ah, got some news. To, ah. Tell you.”

The man standing behind him rolled his eyes and huffed.

“We all know what it’s like a port,” Finstock said, almost pleading. His eyes jumped around from crewmember to crewmember. Stiles groaned and put his face in his hands. 

“What did you do,” Harris asked, suddenly looking furious.

“Well, I may have...you know what happens when…I…”

The strange man stepped forward. “Your captain lost this ship gambling,” he said curtly. “I am Derek Hale, Captain of the Moonshine and commander of the Hale fleet of pirate vessels. Since both the Moonshine and another of my ships, the Howler, are currently in port, I will be dividing the crew of the Beacon into three parts and placing you among the three ships. My first mate, Isaac Lahey, will be announcing the divisions shortly.”

Stiles looked around frantically for Scott, who was staring in shock at the new captain. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Deaton approach the captain before he went with Finstock to the forecastle. They talked rapidly for a minute before both glancing directly at Stiles, Deaton looking grave and Captain Hale looking surprised. Stiles stared back, frozen in place with surprise, until they turned back and disappeared into the officer’s quarters.

“What was that?” Scott asked, grabbing Stiles’ forearm.

“I don’t know,” Stiles said, “but it can’t be good.”


	2. Chapter 2

About an hour after Hale and Finstock disappeared into the officer’s quarters, one of Hale’s men emerged, blinking, onto the deck. The crew fell silent.

“I’m Isaac Lahey, first mate of the Moonshine,” the man said, offering a tight smile to the crew. He brandished a slip of paper. “Captain Hale has decided which ship each of you will be assigned to. If I call your name, please debark the ship and wait on the docks. The quartermaster of the Howler will be there shortly to escort you to your new ship.”

Stiles blindly grabbed for Scott’s hand, clutching it and hoping they weren’t assigned to different ships. Lahey ran through the names briskly, glaring down one crew member who tried to interrupt. He didn’t call either Stiles’ or Scott’s name, and Stiles breathed a sigh of relief.

“Next, the names of the crew assigned to the Moonshine,” Lahey called. His voice was growing hoarse. Liam, one of the Beacon’s cabin boys, nervously edged closer and offered him a flask of rum, which the first mate took a grateful sip of, passing the flask back to the cabin boy with a faint smile. And of course, because the gods of the sea completely hated Stiles, his was the first name Lahey read.

“Shit,” Stiles mumbled, scrambling to his feet and forcing himself to let go of Scott’s hand. He hesitated before debarking, looking back to meet Scott’s big, sad puppy eyes.

“Mary mother of God, you have to be kidding me,” Lahey grumbled, rolling his eyes. “What’s your name, matey?” he snapped, waving a hand at Scott.

“McCall,” Scott said, sitting up straighter with a beaming smile. “Scott McCall.”

“Great. You’re on the Moonshine. Go,” Lahey ordered, huffing an incredulous laugh when Scott scrambled to his feet and ran to join Stiles. Stiles wrapped him in a suffocating hug, laughing when Scott protested.

“You’re like an octopus,” Scott laughed, trying to bat away Stiles’ arms. “Stop it, let go!”

“Seriously,” grumbled a crew member from behind them, “some of us are actually trying to get off the damn ship.”

“Sorry,” Stiles said, and proceeded to try to climb down the ladder to the dock without ever actually letting go of Scott.

“Hey, did you see where Harris ended up?” Scott asked.

“He’s still on the Beacon,” one of the new Moonshine crew said. 

“This day just keeps getting better,” Stiles sighed happily.

|>> |>>  
\\__/ \\__/

The Moonshine was bigger than the Beacon, had more guns, and was much, much slower in the water. Stiles’ job as a rigger became at once easier and more complicated. The pace of work was more relaxed. Rather than quick maneuvers, which required rapid and constant sail adjustments, the Moonshine’s turns were slow, steady, and powerful, and required a lot less work from Stiles.

The Moonshine did have more masts than the Beacon had, so although the work was easier, Stiles had to work with other crew members at all times. He’d had his run of the rigging back on the Beacon, whereas on the Moonshine, bloody Greenburg was always underfoot.

Not all the crew were as annoying as Greenburg, though. Stiles and Scott snagged bunks across from each other in the berth, and their chatter quickly drew in the crew members sleeping in the bunks above them.

Erica Reyes, one of the gunners, had a dangerous smile and a sharp tongue. She and Stiles bickered constantly with grins always on their faces. She was almost always shadowed by Boyd, who seemed to prefer to watch people than actually talk to them. Scott got along much better with Boyd than with Erica, though he rarely had free time, since he was often busy familiarizing himself with the Moonshine’s surgeon and medical supplies.

It turned out that Isaac Lahey was a good friend of Erica’s and Boyd’s, and Stiles found himself spending time with the first mate. Isaac asked him for updates on the rigging and listened seriously to Stiles’ reports. He also asked, with a bit more stammering and blushing, for updates on Scott.

“It’s just, his puppy eyes,” Isaac grumbled, lying on his back with his arm over his eyes in Scott’s bunk. Stiles was sitting in his own bunk, trying to contain himself. “They’re just so...brown,” Isaac sighed.

“It’s not like you see that every day,” Stiles drawled, looking around at the wooden ship.

“You don’t!” Isaac protested, muffled by his arm. “They’re like...like...really nice,” he groaned.

“Right,” Stiles said, leaning his head against the wall and resigning himself to another couple of hours of this.

Because, of course, even when Isaac was off doing his actual job as the first mate, Stiles had to listen to the exact same drama from the other side.

“His hair is so curly, Stiles,” Scott groaned, unknowingly face planted into the same pillow Isaac had languished on earlier in the day. “And he’s so smart, you know. It’s not easy to be the first mate on a ship this big. You have to be really smart.”

“You could always just ask him out,” Stiles suggested dryly. 

“He’d never be interested in a surgeon’s apprentice like me,” Scott sighed.

“You never know if you don’t try,” Stiles said.

“No, it’s hopeless, Stiles,” Scott mumbled into the pillow. Stiles shared a commiserating look with Erica where she was lounging in her bunk right above Scott’s. She had to hear this nonsense almost as often as he did.

|>> |>>  
\\__/ \\__/

Sometimes Stiles was truly amazed at just how much Greenburg sucked at his job. Within the first week of Stiles’ arrival, Greenburg tripped over a pile of rope and nearly fell off the ship - while standing perfectly still in the middle of the main deck - twisted the lines so badly that he wound up pulling the boom into his own head, and dropped a needle from the main mast directly onto Captain Hale’s shirt, ripping the sleeve and earning himself a death glare that Stiles was pretty sure actually had the power to strip the flesh off a person’s bones.

So really, it comes as no surprise when Greenburg slips on a rope he’d forgotten to tie up and pitches head first into the sea. Stiles saw it happen from out of the corner of his eye, spinning on the mast to watch as Greenburg plummeted, his scream sounding eerily like the squawk of a seagull.

“Damn fool,” Stiles grumbled, quickly stripping off his shirt and boots and nesting them in a pile of rope to keep them safe. He dove in after the idiot, hitting the water with enough force to knock the breath out of his lungs. He surfaced, gasping, and flailed for a second trying to get his bearings as the waves tossed him back and forth. As soon as he’d caught his breath, he sucked in a chestful of air and dove under, keeping his eyes open in the stinging salt water to look for Greenburg.

The other man was floundering a few yards away, his boots too heavy for him to keep himself afloat. Stiles swam over, hooking his arms around Greenburg’s shoulders and starting to haul him back over to the ship. The idiot’s panicked flailing didn’t help matters any, but Stiles managed to get them both over to the ladder with minimal difficulty, where Boyd was waiting to haul them up and onto the ship.

“Stiles, you idiot,” Boyd grunted as he helped hoist Greenburg out of the water. “You go risking your fool neck for this swab, that’s maybe the dumbest thing I think I’ve ever heard.”

“Nah,” Stiles panted, grinning up at Boyd, “Just didn’t want to have to do all the work m’self.”

“Mate, next time I’ll make Isaac get up on those masts if you need it, let this bilge drown.”

“H-hey,” Greenburg started to protest. Boyd silenced him with one glare. 

“C’mon, get out o’ that water,” he said, grabbing Stiles by the arm and pulling him up until he could grab onto the ladder.

“Thanks,” Stiles laughed breathlessly. Boyd grumbled shoved him to get him started up the ladder.

Stiles heaved himself up over the railing, finally back on solid, well, ship, only to look up into the unreadable hazel eyes of Captain Hale.

“Captain,” Stiles panted. The captain raised an eyebrow. Stiles wilted under its impressive arch. “Sir, I can explain,” Stiles blurted.

“Good,” the captain said, his voice smoother than Stiles would have expected. “Perhaps over dinner tonight in my quarters. I trust you know where to find them?”

Stiles gaped. “Er - yes, captain, I - what?”

“Tonight, then,” the captain said, nodding firmly and striding away. Stiles scrambled to sit up, gawking after the man.

“Did the captain just ask you to dinner?” Greenburg asked, bemused. 

“Shut up, Greenburg,” Stiles mumbled. He had absolutely no patience left for Greenburg, not when he had a dinner with Captain Hale to worry about.


	3. Chapter 3

Instead of heading down to the mess with everyone else as normal, Stiles made his way to the captain’s quarters as the sun started to set. Since they were sailing due east, the entryway to the stern was shadowed, and Stiles gulped as he stepped into the dark corridor. Captain Hale’s quarters were at the end of the short hall, bracketed by his office and the room shared by the quartermaster and the first mate. Stiles raised a fist to knock on the heavy wooden door. 

Captain Hale opened it immediately. “Come in,” he said, smiling. Stiles was taken aback by the flash of bunny teeth and laugh lines around his eyes. He smiled back tentatively and stepped into the room.

The captain’s room was huge, divided into different sections only by what furniture was where. Stiles flushed red when he noticed a huge, soft-looking bed to the left, underneath a small window, and quickly looked away. To the right was a desk and a table already loaded with food, and Stiles let Captain Hale guide him over and sat down on the chair that the captain indicated.

“Thank you,” Stiles managed to say, fidgeting in his chair and crinkling his napkin in his hands. “Uh, this looks delicious.” And it did - the food on the table was certainly a cut above the usual mess hall slop. In front of each of them was a bowl of warm, rich stew and potatoes, hard bread and cheese, and a glass of wine. The napkins were clean and unstained, and the tablecloth was equally pristine.

“I’m glad,” Captain Hale said, breaking off a chunk of bread and offering it to Stiles, who took it with a nervous flail. The captain smiled again, another flash bunny teeth that made Stiles’ stomach feel like a flurry of butterflies had just taken off inside it.

The last light of sunset poured in from two windows in the far wall, lighting Captain Hale’s face with a warm glow. Stiles could feel his own cheeks flush with blood, and took a bite of the bread to try to play it off. He hummed in surprise at the flavorful bite of cheese.

Captain Hale looked pleased with himself. “You were very brave, rescuing Greenburg earlier today,” he said abruptly. “Are you usually prone to heroics?”

“I don’t think so,” Stiles said. “I mean, I never really had much opportunity before. I’ve only been a rigger for a year or so, captain.”

“Please, call me Derek,” Captain Hale said. Stiles gulped - in his experience, captains didn’t tend to ask their crew to call them by their first names. The captain continued as though he hadn’t said anything out of the ordinary. “I did rather get the impression you’d been on the Beacon for a long time. Was I mistaken?”

“Oh, I had,” Stiles said quickly. “I was a cabin boy at first, though, when the Beacon first started sailing about nine years ago. Captain Finstock kind of took care of me before that, but I grew up on the ship more than anything.”

“I see,” Derek said, taking a bite of stew. “Was Finstock a relation?”

“I don’t think so,” Stiles said. “He always called himself a family friend. I don’t really know. My parents died when I was three, so I don’t remember them.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that,” the captain said, looking serious. “Losing your parents is difficult, especially at such a young age.”

Stiles shrugged. “I never really knew the difference, I guess,” he said. “And it’s no hard life, being raised by the crew of a ship. I love the sea.”

Derek smiled. “Now that is something we share,” he said, raising his glass of wine. Stiles carefully touched it with his own, nervous about breaking them both and ruining the nice tablecloth, and they both took sips. Stiles grimaced slightly at the bitter taste, taking a quick bite of bread to mask both the taste and his reaction, but Captain Hale noticed anyway.

“Do you not like the wine?” Derek asked, frowning and glancing at his own glass.

“Oh, no,” Stiles quickly protested after hurriedly swallowing his bite of bread. It sat heavily in his throat, and he coughed a couple of times to help it go down, his eyes watering at the corners. “I’m sure it’s wonderful, I just...it’s a little bitter for me,” he finally said, eyeing the deep purple liquid dubiously.

“Oh,” Derek said, eyes glinting, “here, you might like this more.” He pulled his own flask out of the breast pocket of his coat, leaning over the table to hold it to Stiles’ lips, one hand on Stiles’ jaw to help balance the flask. Stiles opened his out almost more out of surprise than anything, and Derek tipped the flask slightly, allowing the sweeter rum to trickle onto Stiles’ tongue. When he closed his mouth, Derek pulled back, a self-satisfied gleam in his eyes. “Better?” he asked, his voice low and smooth.

“Much,” Stiles squeaked, cheeks flushed red. “Thanks. Thank you! Capt - ah, Derek.”

“You’re welcome,” Derek said, eyes dark as he took another bite of stew. Stiles gulped.

“So I never actually found out who the new captain of the Beacon is,” he said, grasping for something to say. Derek smiled, the intensity draining out of his expression.

“My cousin, Captain Malia Tate,” he said, “and the Howler’s is Captain Allison Argent, but only while my sister, Laura, is on her honeymoon. My other sister’s ship, the Argentina, is farther down the coast, near Ecuador.”

“Wow,” Stiles said, “it’s kind of a family business, huh?”

“Yeah,” Derek said, smiling down at his stew. “My parents started the fleet. My mom was one of the great captains of the end of the seventeenth century, before she died in the Deucalion massacres.”

Stiles didn’t know a lot about the massacres. None of the older pirates ever seemed to like to talk about it. Deaton only ever smiled cryptically and said some nonsense about it not being the right time. “I’m sorry,” he offered.

“Thank you,” Derek said, seeming to shake off the memory. They finished their meal in a charged but not uncomfortable silence. Stiles fidgeted in his seat once he’d finished his dinner.

“This was great,” he offered tentatively. Derek smiled back at him, that dark, playful look in his eyes once more. 

“I’m glad,” the captain said. He stood and offered Stiles a hand, helping him up and out of the chair. As he was leading Stiles to the door, he swung Stiles sideways, until Stiles’ back pressed against the wall next to the door. Derek leaned in, his arms bracketing Stiles’ face. “Is this alright?” he asked, his eyes flitting over Stiles’ face, his breath tangling with Stiles’ own. Stiles’ mouth dropped open in surprise, the butterflies back in his stomach. 

“Yeah,” he breathed, reaching up to tangle his fingers in Derek’s coat. Derek leaned in, brushing his lips carefully over Stiles’. Stiles gasped at the light contact, and pressed up into the touch, chasing Derek’s lips as the captain started to pull back. “This is definitely alright,” Stiles said after Derek lightly pressed him back against the wall.

Derek smiled. “How would you feel about dinner again tomorrow?” he asked, smirking.

|>> |>>  
\\__/ \\__/

Stiles did not have dinner with Captain Hale again the next day. A ship was spotted on the horizon at midday, a big merchant vessel that promised magnificent booty. Proper meals were abandoned in favor of grabbing whatever you could whenever you had a chance. Stiles wasn’t part of the landing party. The captain had stuck to only those members of the crew who he’d worked with before and knew he could trust.

Instead, Stiles manned the sails, keeping the ship under control while cannons fired and guns were shot. He stayed out of the line of fire for the most part, having been assigned to the mizzenmast, which drew the least fire. Stiles gritted his teeth and ignored the cracking of wood and screaming of wounded around him.

The merchant vessel did not go down easily. Hired soldiers kept the pirates at bay through a hard fight. Though Captain Hale led his ship to a strong victory, the crew did take losses. Stiles was only grateful that he could count none of the dead among his closest friends. 

The captured vessel’s hold contained mostly tea from China being sent to the West Indies and Indian spices, all of which could be sold for a steep price to colonists along the coast. Captain Hale stalked the ship after the battle was over and the price was safely stowed away in their hold with a fierce gleam in his eye. Stiles felt his knees grow weak whenever those dark, fiery eyes caught and held his own. The sun had set a few hours ago. The ship was dark, and the crew were beginning to head to their bunks, when Stiles took a deep breath, marched into the stern, and knocked on Derek’s door.

The captain opened it after a minute, his eyebrows shooting into his hairline when he saw Stiles standing in front of him. Stiles fidgeted uncomfortably for a moment, suddenly unsure whether or not he was welcome, until Derek grinned, sudden and sharp, and stepped aside to let Stiles into the room.

“And what are you doing here?” the captain all but purred. Stiles took a deep breath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning that this earns its rating in the next chapter. ;)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: this chapter is the reason for the rating. Do not proceed if you don't want to read smut!

“Hi, Derek,” Stiles said, straightening his back as he walked into the room, keeping his eyes locked on Derek’s even as he passed by, his stomach twisting in on itself at his daring. Derek’s eyebrows rose, and he turned with Stiles until the captain’s back was against the now closed door. Stiles broke eye contact, looking down at the table and running his hand over the back of a chair. “Earlier, you asked me to have dinner with you.”

“Do you still want dinner?” Derek asked, eyes flickering to the door as though about to go fetch food.

“I already ate,” Stiles said, grinning. Derek’s eyes darkened.

“Then I will have to find another way to entertain you,” he said, striding forward. Stiles retreated before the captain’s determined eyes, backing up until his back was pressed against the wall. Derek’s hands rested on his waist, warm and solid, pinning him in place.

“What do you have in mind?” Stiles asked, tipping his head to the side. He could feel Derek’s breath on his lips, and he opened his own a hair in response. 

Derek let out a rumble of a growl, coming from deep inside his chest, and closed the remaining distance between them, his lips devouring Stiles’ own. Stiles groaned, lifting his arms around Derek’s shoulders, clutching at Derek’s hair with one hand.

“This could work,” he gasped when Derek pulled back.

“Could it,” Derek rumbled, not looking away from Stiles’ lips. He leaned back in, his mouth forceful, and his tongue darted out to play over the tip of Stiles’ upper lip. Stiles gasped, opening his mouth, and Derek took the opportunity to explore further.

“Derek,” Stiles panted into Derek’s mouth. Derek pulled back just far enough to take greedy gulps of air.

“Yeah?” he asked, voice rough and distracted. “What is it?” Stiles’ eyes flickered over to the bed, wondering if he could be daring enough to suggest the move. Derek caught the glance, and a sharp grin quickly spread over his face. “Good idea,” he said, swinging Stiles around by the waist until he landed on his back on the bed. Stiles yelped and flailed a little, silently thanking every god any sailor had ever prayed to that he hadn’t just kicked Derek in the face. That would not have been sexy. Derek snorted in laughter anyway.

“Hey,” Stiles pouted. “Don’t laugh.”

“Sorry,” Derek said, still smirking. “Let me make it up to you.” He leaned in, bracing himself on his forearms, which bracketed Stiles’ face. Stiles groaned as Derek’s body settled in on top of his, the captain’s weight pressing him into the soft bed.

“Derek,” he breathed, his hands wandering over the other man’s back, entranced by the feeling of the captain’s muscles moving under linen. He tugged at the hem of the shirt. “You should take this off,” he said.

“Gladly,” Derek murmured, sitting up on his knees just long enough to pull the shirt up over his head. His chest may as well have been molded out of clay like the Mayan statues they sometimes stole, safe for the dark hair on his chest and trailing down to his belt. “You, too,” Derek added, slipping his fingers under the hem of Stiles’ shirt and slowly pushing it up Stiles’ body. Stiles shivered at the feeling of the captain’s fingers tracing their way up his stomach, and he wiggled out of the shirt as best he could while lying on his back. Derek’s pupils were wide and dark as he gazed down at Stiles’ bare chest. Stiles flushed in embarrassment, and he pulled Derek back down, their skin brushing against each other with no barrier.

Derek caught Stiles’ lower lip between his teeth, tugging on it gently. Stiles felt the jolt sensation travel straight down to his dick, and he groaned and arched up against Derek. “Have you done this before?” Derek asked, his eyes dark as he ground back down against Stiles’ body.

“Some,” Stiles said, shrugging as best he could. He tried to recapture Derek’s lips, but Derek pulled back and raised his eyebrows inquisitively. Stiles huffed. “I fooled around with another cabin boy, but we never did more than hands and mouths. No supplies.”

Derek slid down Stiles’ body, nudging his legs apart until he could fit in between Stiles’ legs. He breathed warm air over Stiles’ cotton-covered dick. “So you’ve done this?” he asked, looking up to meet Stiles’ eyes. Stiles groaned and nodded. Derek untied the laces at the front of his breeches, keeping his eyes on Stiles’ face while he uncovered Stiles’ cock and licked once, slowly, from the base to the tip.

“Derek,” Stiles groaned.

“Yeah,” Derek breathed, finally breaking eye contact to look down. He sucked the head into his mouth, his tongue tracing Stiles’ slit and then moving down to flick over his frenulum.

“Oh hell,” Stiles mumbled, throwing an arm over his eyes. Derek rumbled around his cock, and Stiles’ hips lurched upwards without a conscious thought. “Sorry, sorry,” Stiles groaned. Derek simply placed one of his forearms across Stiles’ hips, holding him down firmly as he sunk down farther, his other hand pumping the shaft as he bobbed up and down. “Oh god ‘lmighty,” Stiles groaned, tossing his head from side to side. “Derek, lord, going to come.”

Derek pulled off entirely, ignoring Stiles’ whine as the cool air hit his damp cock. Derek’s eyes were gleaming. “You’ve never had someone else inside you before,” he said, running a finger lightly over Stiles’ furled pucker. Stiles shook his head no, panting. “Is that something you want to try?” Derek asked, his eyes dark with lust.

“Yes,” Stiles groaned. “Yes, please, want you in me.” Derek groaned, letting his finger slip in up to the first knuckle. Stiles could feel himself just barely stretching to accommodate the finger, and he arched his back and groaned in approval. Derek pulled his finger back out almost immediately so he could fetch a glass bottle of oil from a small basket underneath his bed, unlacing his pants and stripping quickly so that he could spread the liquid over his fingers and his cock.

Derek pressed the finger back against Stiles’ hole. This time it slipped in easily, and Derek pressed it in as far as it would go. Stiles grunted, a punched-out sort of noise that almost seemed to escape without him meaning it to. “Good?” Derek murmured, petting his other hand absently over Stiles’ hip.

“Yeah,” Stiles mumbled, rocking his hips back against Derek’s finger. “Try another.”

Derek nodded, pulling his finger out and coming back with two. This was a bit more of a stretch, and Stiles’ walls ached briefly with the friction of the added girth, but the ache was quickly replaced by pleasure as Derek’s fingers brushed up against the spot inside Stiles that never failed to ignite a fire in his gut. “Derek,” Stiles whimpered, his voice high pitched and keening. “Derek, there, oh!”

Derek groaned, pressing firmly against the spot and making tight circles with his fingers. “Yeah, like that?” he asked, his eyes fixed firmly on the spot where his fingers disappeared into Stiles’ hole. “Can you take another, sweet?”

“Yes,” Stiles moaned, throwing his head back against the pillow as Derek added a third finger. He felt full, like his body had always been missing exactly this, Derek inside of him, and only now was he complete. “I want you, your cock, please, Derek, I want it in me,” he pleaded, rocking his hips down onto Derek’s fingers.

“Hell,” Derek mumbled, pulling his fingers out and bracing himself over Stiles, the head of his cock sliding against Stiles’ crack and bumping up against Stiles’ hole. He pushed in slowly, and it felt like forever, like he was all the way in Stiles’ throat, when finally the head of his dick popped past Stiles’ rim. Derek froze there, breathing heavily, giving Stiles a chance to adjust. He mumbled incoherent praise into Stiles’ ear while Stiles tried to relax around the intrusion.

“Okay,” Stiles said when the ache dissipated, pushing back a little to test himself. “More.” Derek took a deep breath and pushed in further, a long, slow slide that he didn’t interrupt again until Stiles felt his balls brush up against Stiles’ ass. “Oh god,” Stiles groaned, feeling the entire length of Derek inside of him, filling him up. Derek’s cheeks were flushed, and he was biting his lower lip with those bunny teeth of his, and Stiles leaned up to press a sloppy, desperate kiss to Derek’s bitten-red lips. “Move,” he mumbled against Derek’s mouth, “c’mon, move inside me, I want to feel you, move.”

Derek rested his forehead against Stiles’, closing his eyes in concentration as he began to shift his hips, his cock moving within Stiles’ core. He set an easy rhythm, his hips as steadily as the ocean, in time with the waves rocking the ship. Stiles clung to his shoulders, gasping for breath each time Derek glanced against the pleasure spot inside him.

“I won’t last long,” Derek warned him, his hips starting to speed up.

“S’okay,” Stiles panted. “S’fine, just keep going, god, Derek, please,” he whined, doing his best to match Derek’s thrusts with his own, rocking his hips down onto Derek’s cock. He could feet heat pooling in his gut, and he rutted up against Derek’s stomach desperately. Derek lost his rhythm, thrusting a few more times, rough and forceful, before stilling, groaning loudly as his cock twitched deep inside. Stiles ground up against Derek’s strong, firm muscles for just a few more thrusts of his own before he followed the captain into orgasm, hot spunk spreading between them.

Derek pulled out gently, his cock already softening, and cleaned them off with his own shirt. He bundled Stiles into his arms and haphazardly covered them in the one blanket that had somehow stayed mostly on the bed, both pirates quickly drifting into sleep.

|>> |>>  
\\__/ \\__/

Stiles woke in the middle of the night, disoriented by the unfamiliar surroundings. It took a moment for him to realize what had woken him, but when he did, he scrambled upright, sitting naked in Derek’s bed and staring, wide-eyed, at the sight in front of him.

Liam, the boy who had taken his old job as a cabin boy on the Beacon, and who had always trailed after him and Scott like a lost puppy, was standing at the side of the bed, holding a wicked looking knife and staring at him in absolute horror.

“What the hell are you doing?” Stiles hissed. Liam’s eyes flickered to the door. “Don’t you dare,” Stiles said, lunging across Derek’s body to grab Liam’s wrist, taking the knife and throwing it to the floor while he did so. Derek grunted as Stiles accidentally planted a knee in his gut, waking up with a displeased grumble. The captain took a moment to take in the scene before him, and when he spoke, his voice was thick with sleep.

“What the hell is going on?” Derek rasped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only one more chapter to go! Can anyone guess what's happening with Liam?


	5. Chapter 5

“Stiles, why are you naked?” Liam squeaked.

“I’m sleeping with the captain,” Stiles said, flailing. “Why are you holding a knife?”

“I’m supposed to kill the captain!” Liam yelped. “Do you like him?”

“Yes, yes I do!” Stiles said. “I’m a little more concerned by the knife situation than the sleeping with the captain situation.”

“Oh, right, of course,” Liam said, running a hand - not the one with the knife - over his eyes. Derek looked between the two of them with his eyebrows raised so high, they disappeared under his sleep-mussed hair.

“Do you two know each other, then?” he drawled.

“Oh! Yes,” Liam said. “I’m Liam. I’m a cabin boy. On the Beacon.”

“And you just decided to sneak onto a different ship and kill its captain, then, did you?” Derek asked pointedly.

“No,” Liam said slowly. “Harris told me to do it. He wants to mutiny. He locked up Malia and Deaton and threatened to kill people if they didn’t do what he said.”

“Hell,” Stiles spat, flailing out of bed and scrambling to put his breeches on. “Do you have any guns in here?”

“In the office,” Derek said, throwing on his shirt haphazardly and stuffing his feet into boots. Stiles tumbled out of room, yanking open the first door on the left. It was the officer’s quarters, not the office, but Stiles took a second to wake them up. The quartermaster fell out of his top bunk in surprise, but Isaac just stepped over her like that was an everyday occurance, so Stiles darted across the hall into the office, where Derek shoved a revolver and a leather pouch of ammunition into his hands.

“Let’s go,” Derek said, his eyes glinting again with the fire Stiles had seen only a few hours ago. He strode out of the stern purposefully. He was dressed in only a loose linen shirt and half-tied breeches, but even so, Stiles had never seen a captain look so commanding, and he shivered as the captain hurried past him.

There were only about a dozen mutineers, and they were still in the middle of boarding the ship when Stiles emerged onto the main deck. They froze in surprise when Derek stormed out and immediately bellowed out his anger at them. Isaac, Stiles, and the quartermaster flanked him, hands on their weapons and glaring out at the crowd. Liam slipped away, keeping his head down and sticking to the shadows. Stiles saw him heading for the berth and silently hoped he could wake the crew quickly, before the mutineers realized how outnumbered Derek was.

“Captain Hale,” Harris drawled, regathering his wits and striding forward. He wore a deep maroon velvet coat with gold buttons and clasps and he had his hands on his hips and an arrogant smirk on his face. Stiles grimaced at him, though Harris wasn’t paying him much attention. “Are you ready to surrender yet what is not rightfully yours?”

“How dare you,” Isaac snarled, but Derek lifted a hand to cut him off.

“I will never surrender my ship,” Derek said coldly. “And it is mine to command.”

“The ship should have been mine,” Harris spat, his smirk morphing into an ugly grimace. “I was the quartermaster, I should have become captain after that idiot Finstock finally went to Davy Jones’.”

Derek laughed, harsh and cruel. “It wouldn’t have gone to you, even then,” he said. “The Beacon was once known as the Spark, and while it sailed under that name, Finstock was the first mate. He took command after its captain died.”

“Exactly,” Harris said, “I would only have done the same!”

“But Finstock was not the rightful heir in the first place,” Derek interrupted. “He took command because the rightful heir to the ship, the son of the captain, was a mere child of three.” Harris blinked, looking surprised. “That child,” Derek continued, “is now grown.” He stepped back, until he was even with Stiles and Isaac, and caught Stiles’ hand in his own. “This is Stiles Stilinski, son and heir to Captain Claudia Stilinski and all her possessions and glory. If he wants it, the Beacon is his.”

The pirates behind Harris murmured amongst themselves. Stiles could hear clearly the name Claudia Stilinski being whispered among the mutineers, and some of the crew were even dropping their weapons and backing away.

Harris’ mouth dropped open, and he stared at Stiles at Stiles with an expression of shock and hate. Stiles stared back with equal surprise before looking at Derek out of the corner of his eye. “What the hell?” he muttered. “Why’d you make that up? You have a perfectly strong claim.”

“I didn’t make anything up,” Derek answered. “Deaton told me when I first boarded the ship.”

Stiles remembered Deaton pulling Derek aside and whispering in his ear. Derek had known the whole time. Derek knew his background better than Stiles himself did.

“So that’s why you were interested in me?” Stiles asked, his heart sinking. “Because of who my mother was?”

“No,” Derek said, meeting his eyes with no hesitation. “That was why I noticed you, but not why I was interested.”

“This is great,” Isaac said quickly. “Really, I’m happy for you. But there are still angry pirates on board this ship, could we maybe go over all this later?”

Stiles jerked at that reminder, and he looked up to see Harris rallying the mutineers with a feverish gleam in his eyes. Stiles gulped, glancing at the three crew to his right.

“Oh, hell,” Isaac sighed, loading his revolver. Stiles did the same, feeling a night sea breeze cold against the sweat on the back of his neck.

But as Harris gave the order with a cruel smile, the door leading down to the berth swung open with a loud clatter, slamming into the wall with the force of - well, a swarm of angry pirates. The crew of the Moonshine exploded out onto the deck, crashing into the mutineers with screams and curses. Harris blanched, turning tail and fleeing in the face of the crew, but not managing to get to the railing before Erica, her hair messy and her clothing rumpled, caught him by the hair and dragged him down to the floor. She tied him up quickly and efficiently before calling Boyd over to help her drag him up the deck to Derek.

As they passed, the mutineers stilled, letting down their arms and allowing themselves to be taken captive, watching Erica and Boyd haul their leader towards the captain.

“Harris,” Derek drawled. The man looked at him in wide-eyed fear. Stiles felt nothing but disdain for him, remembering all the times Harris had pushed him and Scott around, taken out his temper on those he felt were of lower rank, and blamed his own mistakes on people he disliked. Now he had to face the consequences of his actions for once, and as he blubbered for mercy at Derek’s feet, Stiles did nothing but sneer at the pathetic display before him.

Derek did not drag out the moment of judgement. He lifted his gun to Harris’ head and pulled the trigger, cutting the mutineer off mid sentence, before lifting his glare to the rest of the mutineers. 

“Lock them in the brig,” he ordered his crew. “I will deal with them in the morning. Thank you,” he added, with a rare ghost of a smile, “for waking up at this time of night to deal with this unpleasant business. Liam,” he barked. The cabin boy startled, creeping forward cautiously. “Are there any other mutineers on board the Beacon?” he asked. Liam shook his head frantically.

“No, captain,” he said, glancing at the crew being led down into the brig. “They brought everyone who supported the mutiny with. There were some who were threatened into behaving, but they didn’t want to mutiny, I swear.” Stiles suspected Liam himself was a member of that group. Derek nodded seriously.

“Then please make your way back to the Beacon and release Captain Tate and her supporters,” he ordered. “Good work tonight.” Liam stood straighter, smiling in relief at the captain’s words. He turned and darted off to do as commanded.

“And what would you like us to do?” Stiles asked once the last of the crew had disappeared back to their bunks. Derek smiled softly at him, snaking an arm around Stiles’ waist and pulling him against his side. 

“I would like for us to go back to bed,” the captain said, brushing a fond kiss against Stiles’ forehead. “Thank you for tonight,” he added, in a soft voice meant only for Stiles’ ears. Stiles blushed, smiling back at him helplessly.

“Bed sounds great,” Isaac said loudly. “But can I make one request?” Stiles leaned around Derek to look at him. Isaac looked exhausted and annoyed. Stiles felt a little taken aback. Did Isaac disapprove of Captain Hale and Stiles being together?

“What,” Derek asked, frowning.

“If you two are going to have sex again, please try to keep it down,” Isaac pleaded, clasping his hands together in supplication. “The walls are not thick, and you are both very loud.”

Stiles flushed, from head to toe it felt like, and hid his face in Derek’s chest. Derek laughed. 

“For you, we’ll try,” the captain said cheerfully. “But I really did mean sleep.”

“Thank the good lord,” Isaac muttered. Stiles groaned into Derek’s coat and let him lead them both back to Derek’s quarters. He shook off his boots and clothing haphazardly as he got into bed, falling back asleep almost immediately. The last thing he felt was Derek’s arm flopping across his lower back and the warmth of his body along his side.

|>> |>>  
\\__/ \\__/

Stiles moved permanently into Derek’s room within the week. He made Scott help him carry up his belongings, only to shove his friend into Isaac’s room and lock both of them inside to work out their emotions. It turned out Isaac was right - the walls really were thin. 

Derek followed up on what he’d revealed the night of the mutiny and awkwardly offered Stiles command of the Beacon. Stiles turned him down. He didn’t remember his mother, and while he’d grown up on the Beacon, he prefered to be on the Moonshine with Derek and his friends to being a captain in his own right. Malia remained captain, and soon split off from the group to seek her own fortune slightly further north, about the same time as Laura came back for the Howler.

Laura was intimidating. She stood almost as tall as Derek, and her clothing was tailored perfectly, all sharp lines and hard edges, but she smiled often, and had a way of looking at you that made you feel like she saw through to your very soul. Her wife was the complete opposite. Lydia was a tiny redhead with pretty dresses and perfect porcelain skin, and she carried herself with regal airs. Laura clearly doted on her. 

Derek and Laura conducted only one raid together before Laura took off on her own, and Stiles had never seen Derek laugh as freely as he did when he and Laura fought side by side. The two of them were a thing of beauty, and Stiles couldn’t understand why Laura left so soon.

“Won’t you miss her?” Stiles asked, curious, one night while he was laying on Derek’s chest, aimlessly playing with Derek’s chest hair.

“Sure,” Derek said. “But we’re pirates. Pirates don’t tend to like to share.”

“Not at all?” Stiles asked, glancing up at him. “Not with anyone?”

“Well,” Derek said, his eyes crinkling down at Stiles, “maybe sometimes. With someone.” He leaned down to press a kiss against Stiles’ head, and Stiles sighed happily, content to fall asleep with the waves rolling beneath him, the latest booty safely squirreled away, and his captain’s arms around him, keeping him safe and warm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's all for now! I may do a spin off at some point about Laura and Lydia's honeymoon, but no promises. ;) I hope you enjoyed this story, and thank you to everyone who commented, bookmarked, or left kudos!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, guys - I hope you enjoyed it!


End file.
